Fire and Ice
by Catchy Turn
Summary: In times of chaos, the most unlikely of attractions can come to pass. Yet fire and ice can never truly coexist. JohnBobby, M for future content.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I sadly do not own anyone portrayed in this little piece of fiction. Nor am I making any money off of it. So basically I am a sad little girl with no mutants to call her own. The poem "Fire and Ice" is by Robert Frost and it is also not mine. Naturally.

A/N: This is my first X-fic. I have other works, yes, but none of this fandom. If I'm getting things totally screwed up, then I'm more than open to corrections. And this will be slash of the Pyro/Iceman variety, so please, if you're offended, take your business elsewhere. You have been duly warned. This'll more than likely just be a little one shot thing, two or three chapters, tops, so have no great expectations of it. I just got bored and decided to pen something real quick. I even borrowed my sister's laptop to write it and everything. gags Anyways, read on, o valiant reader!

Fire and Ice

Chapter One

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favor fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To know that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

- - -

There was nothing sweet about it. It was feral and unsophisticated and completely perfect.

He had always heard that feelings sang though people's veins, alighting with joy on lips or words, but his were different. He was different. Instead they tore him apart from the inside, shrieking and howling their way to an even angrier surface. A surface that basked in the red hot glow of the personal hell he had created solely for himself. He was too raw, too primal, too sexual for any of them to even begin to comprehend. He was a god.

He could feel the flames. He could feel every single lick of fire in all its uncontrollable fury and it left him breathless. His hands began to shake as he let the inferno rage on, letting it map its own course. He had caused this, this destruction. And he reveled in it. His soul was purified by the screams radiating along with the heat from the building. It was pure terror and it was all his fault. It consumed his every thought as he let his senses writhe along with the rapidly climbing temperature. His mind followed it as it ripped down hallways, destroying everything it touched. Just as he had always done. Nothing was safe from it, from him. Not even himself. Especially himself. There would be nothing left by the time anyone came to try and stop it.

It was just so easy to lose control. How can you keep tabs on the truly unexplainable? How can you tamp something that steadily refuses to be killed? The only thing he'd been taught at that damned school was how to reign himself in, how to make himself not quite so explosive, so dangerous, so utterly ideal. It was always, 'Put it out, John,' or 'Stop showing off, John,' and he was sick of it. He would have no more of a lifestyle that he could not match. Would not match.

That's why he had left. The Brotherhood had never once told him to control. If he wanted to burn someone alive for the sole pleasure of seeing them engulfed in flames there was no one to impede his whims. No one at all to tell him to stop, he might hurt someone if he continued down this path. Because that's what he really wanted. He wanted to hurt people. And not just the ones that had hurt him, no, he didn't care who he caught in the cross-fire. The more, the better. Deep down, he had never once been a good person. Why would he care about those who didn't care about him?

It was a permanent world of letting go, of just being. Never had he been told to slow down, to not push himself farther than he had before. He could do what he wanted when he wanted to do it. There were no rules to be followed, just a principle. Wreak havoc, spread the word. It was so simple, yet so complex.

The fire kept on. He wasn't about to let it go out. Not yet, not so soon. He needed this. It was his release. And there were so few that he had to keep them close, had to keep them lit for as long as he possibly could. There was nothing so arousing as a naked flame. It could heat the blood or burn you from the inside out. Fire excited not passion, but desire. Passion led to things like love and tenderness, two of the most laughable concepts he'd ever come across. Desire was raw and unbridled, more like himself than anything in this world. Love made one weak and soft while lust made you tougher than diamonds and got you exactly what you wanted.

That's why practical lessons in school had always been such a problem for him. It wasn't because he was less powerful than any of the other students; on the contrary, really, his power was only rivaled by one other. He could just never focus because his mind was on other things. Things that he shouldn't have been thinking about during class. That was one of the perks of having an ice man as your roommate, the shower was always set as just below frigid. But even that didn't help a lot of the time.

The first time he'd ever had any sort of sexual encounter, the place had burned down. He was only fourteen and he'd been a drifter even then. It was so easy to tell people you were seventeen or eighteen when you were all alone on the streets. Easy to convince them that you knew exactly what you were doing though you didn't have a clue. No one cared about the boy in the ragged clothes with the wicked grin so long as he stayed out of their way and fended for himself. It had been the first time he knew that he was even remotely different from anyone else. There had been a kerosene lantern in the corner and when he came it had burst into flames. The whole seedy apartment complex had burned to the ground with him in it.

It was almost religious, the experience of being engulfed in the flames. At first he thought he was going to die, but then he began to realize that it was exactly the opposite, that he was being born again into an entirely different church.

He had tried again only a short time later with much the same results. But this time he focused more on the candle on the dresser than the sex itself. As more sweat dripped into his eyes, the more wax dripped from the growing flame. He saw his very soul in that candle. And he liked it.

It became something that he grew more and more accustomed to as he began to experiment with the fires alone. He would feel the flames coming on faster and harder than he would feel his own orgasm. And it was glorious. A physical feeling can end, it can be washed out of the system and be forgotten, but flames were constant. They were all consuming.

An almost smile quirked at the corners of his lips at the memory. This building was a far better spectacle than that first one had been. He just wished that he could be inside to experience it firsthand. He shifted in the metal chair he was currently occupying and tried to distract himself by taking a sip of whatever it was that he had ordered. It tasted stale in his mouth and didn't work to still his thoughts. One of his hands drifted longingly towards the button of his jeans, his eyes never leaving the conflagration before him, yet he stopped it with a frown. It wouldn't do to be arrested and detained for indecent exposure when he had just committed a terrorist act.

A terrorist act. He glanced around him, taking in the people. They were huddled together in groups, hysteria making their words almost unintelligible or they were standing completely alone, staring wide-eyed at something they thought to be impossible. It was the most beautiful thing he'd ever created. He'd affected so many lives with such a simple action.

Throwing a few dollars on the table of the café he'd been calmly sitting at while the fire trucks across the street tried in vain to put out a seemingly magical fire, he began to make his way back to the hotel. It was only a short walk and the smell of the smoke would keep him company for quite a few blocks. He just needed to get back quickly, he needed to be completely freed. No inhibitions. He stopped moments later though as he felt a sudden chill in the air that was more than a bit out of place.

An incredulous voice carried the brief distance from the newcomer to his ears.

"Johnny?"


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Again, the boys aren't mine.

A/N: I just wanted to say thank you to the beautiful reviewers from the last chapter. Lennister: my friend, you make me smile and I can't wait to keep reading your HP, akari-hayashi: thanks for the compliment, you have no idea how much I appreciate it, Pyrrhic Lotus: I truly hope you like this chapter as much as the last one and you sound very happy, I like you, and mysterious-muse: you live up to your name, I'm glad you're watching and I hope you're pleased. Thank you guys so much and hopefully the next chapter will be up sooner than this one was! If there are any problems, as I'm beta-less, please let me know so I may correct them.

And holy shit, I just found a fic with the same name as this one and they used the Robert Frost poem as well. So if Obsidian Kiss or anyone who knows them is reading this, I totally had no idea theirs was out there and I'm so terribly sorry if you're pissed at me. I guess they say that great minds think alike and all that jazz. So I hope that you're forgiving!

Fire and Ice

Chapter Two

He had always felt alone.

Though he was constantly surrounded by people he was never one of them. It was as if he could barely see them standing around him. They could see him, they could talk to him, but they weren't really there. Rather, he wasn't really there. It was almost as though he were a shadow of a person that was almost standing next to you, but wasn't fully operational. He was a ghost.

He couldn't find the energy to interact normally anymore. It had always been a struggle, but now it was next to impossible. He was just too tired, the days were just too long. Even if he'd wanted to be a part of it all, he couldn't have. There was no way. People were too loud, they were always in your face when all you wanted was five minutes to yourself, five minutes to simply be and not have any interruptions. Was it all so much to ask for?

He had never been allowed to be real. Not even to his own family. They had never met their son, their brother, whatever the hell he was. They hadn't even looked at him in months. He was everything that they stood against and nothing that they could ever come to love as one of their own. He had grown up with an appallingly cold family; it really came as no surprise when his exterior began to match his thoughts. On the outside he might look the part of wealthy suburbanite, but on the inside he was left more bitter than they could ever know.

He couldn't show his actual face to anyone, it wouldn't be accepted. There was no chance of that; it was one of the few absolutes in his life. And if there was one thing that Bobby Drake had to do it was be accepted. He had to fit in. The first time he'd realized his power he had nearly had a coronary. Yet on the outside he remained calm and collected, his mask fully in place as he handed back the previously warm drink that he had pressed to his lips only moments before. At first he hadn't understood, but then it had become all to clear, all too painful for him to come to terms with.

The cold was an almost tangible thing, coiling snake-like around his heart and not wanting to let go. He could control and shape it to do as he bid, but it would never leave him. Not for one moment would he have peace from the icy shards that constantly pierced through his mind. They poked and prodded and turned him into little more than a machine. They were frosty and calculating and perfectly logical. And he was sick of it. He was so tired of not letting anyone get close to him for fear of them becoming just as cold as he was.

He wasn't like the rest of them. That alone was enough to almost kill him. For so long he had tried to be one of them. Looking around at the people that surrounded him now he almost didn't understand why he had wanted it so badly. They were scared, panicky creatures, all running from what they didn't understand. But so was he, in a way. He had never known exactly what he was doing. He had lied to everyone about every aspect of his life and this was just adding another secret to the rapidly growing pile that he had stashed away in the dark recesses of his mind.

And the sad part was that he didn't even care anymore. He was used to living his life in the dark while masquerading in the light. On the outside he would be happy, carefree Bobby Drake, straight A student and upcoming member of the X-Men, but underneath he was growing more and more brittle as the days passed. And when ice becomes too brittle, it shatters.

So here he was, alone again, feet pounding the delightfully hot asphalt of the San Francisco streets as he struggled to come to terms with something he really couldn't care less about. He was here to find her. Marie, Rogue, whatever the hell she wanted to call herself. He really didn't have time to deal with this.

Everyone had said that it was his fault that she had gone, that he had pressured her too much, that he hadn't been understanding, and every other kind of bullshit thing that people say when they need something to blame besides their own stupidity. Anyone with half a brain could see that it wasn't for him that she did anything. It was all for her precious Logan and no one else. He didn't really fit into the equation anywhere.

And ever since John had left… well, it had all gone downhill from there. When he had been there, everything had looked a bit more interesting. Simple things weren't quite so simple as he had assumed and life had been looking up for once. Despite the fact that they couldn't have been more different, he had found someone who understood him. Someone he could actually relate to. At least, he thought he could.

He had tried so hard to understand. To get into the mindset of someone he had totally misconceived wasn't the easiest thing to do and he had spent more than a few sleepless nights simply staring at the empty bed his best friend used to inhabit. It was strange, really, that he could have been so wrong about someone he thought he had known so well. They had been like brothers, or how he imagined a brother to be, not finding his to be at all adequate in that area. They knew what the other was thinking and exactly what to say and then it had all been kicked in the fucking head when John left.

He wasn't even going to pretend he wasn't angry. John had just up and gone without one word of warning and that was unacceptable. You didn't do things like that to your best friend. You didn't pretend to go for a stroll in the snow and then defect to the other side. You just didn't. But he knew John was temperamental, he knew that he was a time bomb, and he had let him walk away. He was angrier at himself than he ever would be at his friend.

He still considered him that, a friend. After all he'd done, all the lives he'd destroyed, even as Bobby walked past the wreckage of John's latest conquest as it burned on, he was still his friend. That would never change for him. He didn't think that John could be turned, his powers of persuasion weren't that strong. He had just wanted to see him one last time before the cops found him or he was killed or he simply disappeared forever. It wasn't all that much to ask for, but it was all he hoped to accomplish. He knew it was foolish and sentimental, that it would never happen, so he closed his eyes against the fire and turned his back to it, determined to not let it sway his decision.

He just wanted to find that damned girl and go back home. There was nothing for him here, but just the same, he reasoned, his steps almost wavering, there was nothing for him there. He was just so confused. The mansion couldn't be home so long as, well, so long as it was empty. Only ghosts of happiness walked the halls now and he was tired of being one of those. He came to a standstill in the middle of the street as the fire raged behind him, realizing that he didn't want to go back there. He was more comfortable here with the blaze than he had ever been at school.

Yet all pretenses of finding Marie disappeared when he caught a glimpse of the back of a person he could never mistake.

He pushed his way through the people separating them and quickly became absolutely certain of their identity, regardless of how much they had changed, how much had happened between them.

"Johnny?"


End file.
